


Meant To Be: A Hatter and Hare Origin Story (Hare's POV)

by darlingdeathbird



Series: Meant To Be: A Hatter and Hare Origin Story (working title) [2]
Category: Adventures In Wonderland (TV 1992)
Genre: AU, Alternate Reality, How They Met, M/M, Modern, Origin Story, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29237886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdeathbird/pseuds/darlingdeathbird
Summary: I have had this idea in my head for a long time, about Hatter being a student who frequents a cafe where Hare works, and that's where they first see each other. Hare's in a rut, and Hatter's a bright shining beacon. They're instantly drawn to each other, spiritually, creatively, and maybe romantically, too... but what will it take, and how long will it take for them both to figure that out? This is Hare's POV. There is a separate work in Hatter's POV.
Relationships: Mad Hatter/March Hare (Alice in Wonderland)
Series: Meant To Be: A Hatter and Hare Origin Story (working title) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182812
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Window Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this project is going to look like, other than I've always known that it'd be long, if I decided to start it. That's kind of why, in the past 10+ years that I've been writing fanfic for this show, I never got to work on an origin story. Other projects had priority, and I may have been daunted by the idea of doing one. After all, it has big expectations to live up to, and also it's just one person's vision of what characters' pasts looked like. I never came up with more than vague, nebulous tidbits, either. My intuition about their pasts may not have been completely formed. Now it seems like I could flesh out what came to mind from time to time about their past. But bear with me, if you're reading this. If it's not what you imagined their past would look like, or what they might have been like in the past, my story is not supposed to be something that negates other ideas. It's just my take, and I'm only living inside my very own head, here. lol
> 
> This work is part of a collection. The story is in both their perspectives. To read Hatter's perspective, click on the series link, where it will be listed. 
> 
> One last thing, please expect sporadic updates: that is all that I can manage right now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hare finally meets the dude he's been lowkey crushing on for weeks!

The day that Hare first saw Hatter was by no means the day that he met him. Those were entirely separate events. Events separated by weeks, maybe even a month or two. There was so much going on for him at the time that catching a beautiful stranger at his place of employment was just a short reprieve from chaos. Like being carried away in a thought bubble to a little fantasy island where he might imagine knowing that stranger, learning the hopes and dreams behind that beautiful face, being shared with whatever it was that he’d drawn in the huge, board-game sized sketchbooks that he always had with him. He was often hitting people with them on accident, too.

Why did he need so much caffeine? The man--… boy?... man-boy? Boy-toy? Young gentleman. Fine chap? Fiiiine gentleman. You know what? “Beautiful Stranger” will do.

The _Beautiful Stranger_ seemed to always be up to something. The kind who took on too much and clunked around with it, dropping things here or there. An endearing sort of mess. It seemed to Hare that he probably didn’t get his sleep at night: he got it during the day, and never on purpose. If he wasn’t coming into the cafe with friends, he was hanging onto consciousness by a thread, awfully tempted to use his books like pillows.

Hats, scarves, coats, and gloves… Hare never saw him without ‘em. When he dozed in the study corner, where all the college students dropped in and out between class, he always looked like an overdressed angel. A part of Hare wanted to take it upon himself to offer him food or make sure he wasn’t going to be late for something, but before he could muster up the courage, he would look over and the Beautiful Stranger would be gone. Dashed off to where he was needed, or needed to be…

Hare wondered where he went. Was he an art student? Did he live in town or somewhere else? When he and his friends dispersed to their respective places, did he sit alone on the bus? Did he--?

“March. Why is there no coffee made? Every pot is empty,” he heard from behind him. He turned around to explain himself, but his boss had already stormed off to take care of it herself. He had a mop in his hand and had been daydreaming, as usual, while he cleaned up a mess of his own making. “What happened?” He heard, once again behind him, though it was the same person as before, now on the other side of the counter. He whipped back around and looked into the harsh eyes of his superior, which never betrayed even a mite of sympathy. He could hear the coffee machine screeching as it started up, to pour the brew he failed to prepare.

“Uhh, sorry. I dropped one of the pitchers… to the espresso machine,” he answered. She just grumbled as he got back to his work. “It’s just milk,” he reassured, but she was gone again, off to address some other pressing matter.

That was when the bell on the door chimed, and several young men of the “overdressed” persuasion all entered the cafe, not even noticing him. Beautiful Stranger was among the mix. They seated themselves and were promptly greeted by a hostess. Beautiful Stranger took off his tweed coat and hung it on the back of a chair, then sat down, with his back turned to Hare. His nose was quickly buried in a menu.

Hare tried to hurry up with his mopping. It was suddenly embarrassing to be seen with the thing, regardless of whether he was indeed _being seen_. By the person he had in mind, that is.

He rolled the mop bucket out of sight, then a waitress who had gone to the table in question returned to him with a latte order. “One’s a hazelnut with almond milk, for him right there,” she told him, pointing to one of the young men: the stocky one with bangs gelled straight up and around, like a wave. “The other’s lavender with whole milk. Two shots of espresso, for the blond. Redhead. Whatever it is.”

Seemed _nobody_ knew how to describe the Beautiful Stranger accurately. He was too extraordinary.

Hare felt a stone in his stomach. He had better not screw this up. This _lavender with whole milk and two shots of espresso_ better have had the best latte art he’d ever made. A bear? Maybe an uncanny portrait of him. Oh wait, all he knew how to do was leaves.

He _had_ to make the _best_ damn leaf. And not drop the pitcher this time.

“March?” He nearly jumped at the sound of his boss’s voice, back once more.

“Yes?” He answered, hugging the pitcher, right against his racing heart.

“Make your rounds. I’ll do those.”

“Are you sure?” She had no idea why he would ask such a thing, and got straight to clamping the espresso scoop to the bean grinder.

Hare went to grab the freshly brewed pots and wander around the room. Regular in one hand, decaf in the other. He made sure to start where he was farthest away from the Beautiful Stranger. As he went from guest to guest, pouring their refills, his mind was preoccupied with worry about what he would do when he _did_ reach his table, though. He wouldn’t need to ask him if he wanted coffee. But that meant he wouldn’t need to talk to him. This made Hare sad. He sort of… _wanted_ an excuse. Wanted a script that let him interact with him wearing a… “harness”, you could say… Above a safety net. Something that wouldn’t imply he was putting himself out there, just doing what he had to.

Maybe he could just smile. _That_ was a part of his job. And surely there was a consensus amongst everybody who’d ever discussed the subject that it was _impossible_ to mess up. Unless he had something in his teeth. _Did he?!_ Would it hurt to ask a customer?

Yes, it might… so he just went around smiling as brightly as he could, hoping some decent fellow or lady, who looked out for others on the social front, would alert him to it, if he _did_ have something in his teeth.

Nobody was saying a thing. Though they _did_ look put off about something… maybe that he was smiling so big. He toned it down and felt like a fool the rest of the way across the room.

Finally, he was there, in his corner. He could hear him talking, with his pleasant, sing-song voice. He even felt the end of his tweed jacket brush his calf as he passed. He turned casually in front of his table. “Coffee? Anyone?”

“I’ll take some,” the fellow at his left said. The Beautiful Stranger didn’t even look over as he shared his very animated opinion with another table-mate. Hare looked back down to the cup he was pouring, just in time to save the coffee from going over the rim. The man whose drink it was seemed irritated. No room for cream.

A nervous, fluttery laugh escaped Hare’s lips as he dismissed himself, but he looked one more time at the Beautiful Stranger, just to see him head on, and so close. That was when he looked back.

Hare smiled.

So did he.

Hare… maybe smiled a little _too_ much.

He must have been thinking that when he averted his eyes, trying to shake whatever fleeting hold the awkward moment between them had had on him.

Hare felt like a dum-dum. Was this a crush or something? Weeks of looking for this guy, studying him, yearning to reach out as if the gap between them was short enough to do that, and not ridiculously, hilariously vast. How _old_ was he? Definitely not Hare’s age. This all seemed _so_ stupid after the friendly -- _no_ , _polite, just polite, only polite --_ smile they had just shared. He was just doing his job. Jobs were all needed, so that society functioned. Hare’s job: bring the coffee, smile at guests. Beautiful Stranger’s job: be kind to other strangers, and appreciate when the really hideous ones bring his friends coffee.

Time really sped by when he was kicking himself. The brunch rush was no joke, even for those to whom comedy was the only lifeline. He was going to laugh about this later -- not the brunch rush, but how worked up he’d gotten about these tiny tokens from strangers. Ones he found most beautiful, and surely most unlikely to ever work themselves up over _him_.

When one o’clock rolled around, he was counting the till, noticing how his stomach rumbled, and resigned to the fact that he would sit alone with a ham and cheese sandwich, at that little table in the sunlight that he liked. He had chips this time! And a muffin that Ma had made. She never let him go wanting.

His boss poked her head out from the back hall, where she had been talking to a cook through a window to the kitchen. “Go ahead, if you’re ready for lunch. I’ll watch,” she told him, only half interested, not even the person she was an hour ago. When the cafe calmed, so did she. Also, he thought she liked the cook. Not that it was his business--

As he nodded and turned back to the till, he noticed that someone was intimately studying the baked items in the case. It was Beautiful Stranger… hunching down, tilting, and hovering, as though he needed to see everything from different angles before he had his opinions.

He was apparently _wanting_. For the first time?

Hare quietly sighed when he realized his stupid heart was thumping again. He had never seen him at the front counter before. Not once.

He looked back to his boss: totally lost in conversation. Hardly anyone was in the cafe after the brunch rush.

The only thing going on, really, was that he and Beautiful Stranger were being corralled by fate, to two sides of the same counter. It was his job to pay attention to him. To look at him, too, in case he needed something. There was no guilt in looking, no matter how complacently it was. It was only a side-effect of him doing his job, that he would notice his soft, sunny locks fall from behind his ears, and need re-tucking. Or the fact that his _eyelashes were terribly long_ … like a doll’s, and his pale blue eyes were surprisingly sharp as the lights of the case reflected in them. Sharpness that accompanied _interest_ , hunger for what he beheld. Hare could see his chest moving, up and down, beneath all those fancy layers.

Finally, Beautiful Stranger cleared his throat, seeming to know he’d spent a lot of time just window-shopping. Hare was less aware that he had been doing the same, and had to snap himself back into being present.

“Uh, just looking. Never looked before,” Beautiful Stranger said.

“By all means,” Hare told him. “Have a look. Look as much as you want.”

“I _am_ looking…” he confirmed, “and I want most of it.”

Before he could stop it, a terribly emphatic giggle came rolling out Hare’s mouth. “W-Well you can have it,” he assured him. “I mean… you have to _buy_ it,” he clarified, leaning in, as if to warn him. He smiled, but wasn’t entirely present as he zoned in on his choice. Probably just being polite because _what kind of joke was that?!_ Hare took a deep breath and tried not to kick himself anymore. Maybe if he played his cards right he’d be able to make other jokes. Better jokes. _...Had Shirley (his boss) done a good enough leaf on this man’s latte?_

“Uh, you should try one of these _apple_ _turnovers_. They’re delicious!” Hare blurted, not knowing why he would be making suggestions.

“Oh, I didn’t even _see_ those!” Beautiful Stranger replied, glancing all around, almost in a hurry to locate them.

“I mean, just as a suggestion, i-if you wanted inside information about, a-about the best stuff around here, ‘cause I’ve tried all of it…” Oh, he sure as fuck _had_... the _“cafe-fifteen”_ was a real thing.

“I’ll take one of those. Actually, make it two.”

Hare blinked. “Really? I-if there was something else you had your eye on--”

“There was, but I’ll try it next time. Gimme two of these turnovers.” _Next time?_ There’d be a next time? “Please,” Beautiful Stranger remembered to tag on to the end of his sentence, this time with a smile for Hare that seemed more than just tolerant. It was jovial. Playful.

That just must have been his personality. Playful, jovial, with _everyone_. You could mean nothing to him and he’d still be jovial and playful, because he was just _that_ nice. His mother probably raised him right: _just_ raised him, not long ago. He really did look fresh off her lap. This time, it was Hare who cleared his throat.

“Coming right up, sir!” He tried to seem charmingly fancy, project whatever vibe he thought it was that Beautiful Stranger was emitting.

“Oh please, call me Hatter.” As Hare attempted to pick up just _one_ paper bag instead of five, he explained himself, and slung an arm on top of the case as he did so. “Family name. Uh, profession. Name? Profession?” Hare was astonished: even the Beautiful Stranger -- uh, _Hatter_ \-- didn’t know how to categorize himself. “To _whom_ do I owe the pleasure?”

Hare almost dropped the turnovers from between the tongs he was trembling. “Oh, uh…” _Quick, Marchie,_ _be quaint and fancy or whatever the fuck--_ “ _You_ can call me… _Hare._ ” He grinned, pretending to be quite proud of himself, as he placed the treats just beside his guest’s arm. “Family name. Uh, species? Species and name, and definitely not a profession… that I’m aware of. Hghghghgghgh!” Hare didn’t know why his giggle was making him feel so self-conscious. It had never bothered him before: it was infectious and genuine and always gave away that he was in a room, _Ma_ would say. But Hatter wasn’t his mother, so he was bound to think it was less cute than she did.

To Hare’s disbelief, he laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

Hare took his change, and then took his time opening the register. For a second, he forgot how to do it, but pretended not to struggle with the machine as Hatter stepped back, readying himself for the chilly street. “Well, gotta run. Thanks!”

He was gone, as easy as that, not even five seconds later.

Hare felt surprisingly warm and fuzzy, like glitter had exploded inside. He was not expecting to ever be on a first name... first profession... first species… basis, with him. And definitely not by way of such a pleasant interaction.

And he didn’t really care that Shirley finally realized how long it was taking for him to go to lunch and kicked him straight off the register before he had even found a way to open it and put in Hatter’s change.


	2. Presently Pleased by Pastries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hare notices that the Hatter suddenly has a growing interest in pastries.

The following morning, Hare hurried to work. He had stayed late, visiting Ma that night, and hadn’t showered until it was breakfast time, and so breakfast time was bumped to just as he was rushing out the door. He had a banana stuffed in his mouth, and a thermos of tea, and his backpack, and clunked the whole way to the bus stop. Inside his bag was his lunch and another muffin. He was not going to be in short supply of them for some time, because Ma was baking up a storm, and she insisted he have most of her batches.

Though she wouldn’t admit it, Hare knew it was because she was upset.

She had raised him alone. Although she had never once implied that it was even half the struggle that it was, it was easy to deduce as he got older that she was always trying to make a dollar stretch, and that there was rarely any time left over just for herself. But there had been little trace of the fact that she was lonely, too. She rarely went out when he was a child, and never had a man… bunny… what-have-you around. It took him a long time to understand why that was, and what likely effect his biological dad bailing on her would have had.

She finally had a boyfriend when he was in his teens. Ma seemed to be having the time of her life, or something. Rendezvousing and all that. Then she decided she didn’t like him, and he was gone.

It happened again and again.

Nobody good enough for Ma.

Still, she _always_ cried about it, and Hare was the one who comforted her. He was great at it, apparently. “Oh, if only there were more men out there, just like _you_. I raised you right, yes I did,” she’d say, tugging his cheek just a little too hard.

Hare pretended that he was just as picky as she was, and she _bought it without blinking_. “Yes, the girls are just clambering for me…”

“You’re the sensitive type. I’ll tell you what women really like,” she divulged to him, “is a man who reminds her of herself!”

“Heheheheheh!” He would pretend his laughter was some sort of hearty agreement… except in reality, he had never encountered a girl who liked him for that.

“And men…” She started, because she knew every place where her son’s interests lied, “they like everything and nothing!” She waved her hand dismissively. “They’re pleased so easily, but _not. for. long!”_ She sighed and pet his cheek, where a pink mark remained from her tugging. “Oh, but I know that’s not you. Your standards are high, just like your mother’s, but once you find the right… person… It will last, and it will be… _magical!_ I just _ **know**_ it!”

This remained the sentiment at the tail end of many heart-to-hearts that they’d had. “You’ll find someone. You’re too special for just _anybody_.” Though it seemed partly a way to soothe herself, after throwing out increasingly lame excuses for why her former beaus were never going to work out.

And that had been the block that he’d rounded again, the previous night.

Even though he loved her, he was too used to it for it to take up a lot of headspace anymore.

Beautiful Stranger was doing a good job at that, all of a sudden. Hare looked for him all morning, and perked straight up when he heard a lavender latte with whole milk and two shots of espresso was being made.

Oh yes, he was there. Hard to miss, being so tall and lanky as he was. Always a fedora on his head, too, so that even _if_ there were others as tall as him in a room, he’d still rise above the rest.

Hare was both dreadful and eager to make his coffee runs, and you could be damn sure Shirley was all for it. He grabbed the pots and started at the furthest table from him again. This time he had checked his teeth (and they were fine… just huge.) The closer he became, the more he worried, however. A lot was hanging on whether Beautiful Stranger, the _Hatter_ , would be warm and friendly to him, or not.

He had had experiences where people were only nice to him when they had isolated him; then aloof when there were witnesses.

Finally, he was right in front of him, pouring one of his tablemates coffee, trying to look cute even. He smiled really big, bit his lip, put a hand on his hip and popped it, almost like he was flirting with him (the tablemate). When his eyes flickered up to Hatter, he realized he had been observing _all of that_ , but not smiling, not at all. Only when he was caught in the act did he smile, and with a timid sort of wave. As if this was some kind of wave back, Hare lifted up his pot of decaf and sort of jiggled it, just as the Hatter’s attention was being stolen. Hare smiled to the ground awkwardly and carried on.

Time went by so fast. The bustle of noon was suddenly the peace of one o’clock. It was his job to glaze the tarts. He had them spread out all across the back counter and had been meticulously decorating them with fresh berries for the past hour. In between customers, of course, but all the while, he kept glancing at the Hatter’s table too. All it took was hopping into the kitchen for a split second to check on the soup for Beautiful Stranger and his friends to get up from their table and desert the cafe, right under Hare’s nose.

Or so he thought. The high he had had, just being in the same space as him, was rapidly dying. He whipped out his little glaze brush dejectedly, because fuck if anyone noticed that he was pouting, when suddenly he caught someone in his peripheral.

There was that Beautiful Stranger, uh-- Hatter. He guessed by now he should stop referring to him as so gosh-darn beautiful all the time.

He looked like he had been waiting for permission for something. Hare jumped:

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Oh no, please, _**I’m**_ sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you…!” He looked back down to Hare’s tarts: indeed, with a glaze of _wonder_ in _his_ eyes. “Uh, uhh---Those look _so_ good!”

“They’re okay,” Hare answered candidly. _Maybe that sounded dismissive_ , he worried. He took one of the tarts in the cup of his hand and brought it closer to him, just so he could have a look.

“Well they could fool me. That is _artistry_ right there.👌”

Hare chuckled. “I think you’re the only artist between us.”

Hatter looked surprised. “How could you tell?!” He asked, just as a woman passed right behind him and had her scarf whipped straight from her neck. She and Hatter both looked down to the floor and found that it had snagged on the spiral part of his giant sketchbook. He was desperate as he tried to untangle it. “I am _so_ sorry! I am so, so sorry!”

Hare was trying not to giggle the entire time. Hatter almost looked flushed that that had happened in front of him. “Sorry,” he said to him as well. Hare just shook his head. “A-a-actually, this is my sketchbook! I don’t make tarts, but-- well, so--”

“ _Hi_ , can I get you anything?” Shirley was right there, and right between them all of a sudden, flashing her brightest smile at Hatter. “Go ahead and finish; I’ve got this,” she told Hare. _“And take your lunch as soon as you’re done.”_

All three were quiet for just a second, before Hare backed away and excused himself with a nervous chuckle. He felt in a hurry to finish the tarts, like maybe if he just finished them quickly enough…!

This was probably a stupid thought, and impractical to boot. Hatter really _did_ take his time, though, and Hare found that he was breezing through the glaze with a secret smile as he listened in on their conversation. Seemed he wanted to know literally _everything_ about every item in the case. And the family members for whom he was apparently purchasing seemed to have a variety of allergies. “Now are these _all_ made here, are these--”

“No, not all of them, but they’re all from local businesses.”

“Mmmm, mmm, okay.”

Just as Hare was packing away the tarts and glancing at the counter before he clocked into his lunch, he met eyes with the subject of his fixation, who was trying to be discreet about checking on him as his selections were being rung up. _This was getting embarrassing!_

He had to stop trying to look at him or he’d get the totally wrong idea!

He took the biggest breath before he punched in his number. He went to get his lunch out of his cubby. Then he trudged to his little table in the sunlight. The Hatter was still at the front of the cafe, staring down at a pocket watch, the energy and playfulness he had exhibited so shortly ago already drained from him. Hare felt like he was spying on him as he had a moment to himself, and shit, what if he looked over and caught him again?!

_Pay attention to your dumb sandwich, Marchie!_ _**This** _ _is really the best part of the day, isn’t it? Oh, and the muffin…_

He took the muffin out. Banana-nut. It would be delicious.

“Hello.” Hare looked up. Jesus Christ, it was _him_ again! “I just wanted to say -- and I was going to say it earlier, it’s just I was interrupted-- that those turnovers were _superb_ ,” he emphasized, closing his index and thumb together as he stood sheepishly, several feet away.

Hare straightened up in his chair. “Oh, I’m so glad!”

“Mhm, yeah so--” It looked like Hatter was already backing out of the situation. “That’s all I wanted to say, and sorry for interrupting your lunch.” He slapped a nearby chair top and swiveled around: with scarf, coat, sketchbook, and all the doodads on his messenger bag swiveling with him. Only by an inch did he not graze somebody on his way out the door.


	3. Sugar High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It comes to Hare's attention that the Hatter is giving him enough attention to make him wonder WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN...!

This handsome, disarrayed student sure had a sweet-tooth. From those days on, he never passed up a chance to pick a treat from the case. And he chatted him up, briefly, sharing little things about himself, every which one Hare remembered. Even if it wasn’t Hare helping him, he would at least smile in his direction, acknowledge that he was there. Say hi, even. A couple of times, he was having _the_ worst possible day, too, and his smile was like a hand turning up his chin out of nowhere, reminding him of all those positive platitudes that he’d forgotten: “Hang in there”, “Everything is Temporary”, and so on and so on…

Then suddenly came a surprising amount of nerve one day, when he decided that he’d bring the Hatter half of the tart that he’d just broken. It was no good for the case, and he had to get rid of it before Shirley saw. A few more mistakes, and he was getting the ax, he was _sure of it_. He stuffed the other half in his mouth, ran to grab a plate, and took a few deep breaths, then marched on out to Hatter’s table as if he had business there. From right behind him he slid the plate on the table next to his elbow, and tried not to seem too giddy when Hatter looked up at him.

“ _It’s_ _trashed_ _. Have it,”_ he stage-whispered, then swooped out of the scene of the crime just as Hatter inhaled.

_Shit, I should have waited to see what he said, if he even_ _**wanted** _ _it, if he doesn’t have an_ _**allergy** _ _for all I know!_

Breathless, he got back to work boxing the others and pretending it had never happened, then turned to check on him, catching the Hatter at the just the moment he licked what may have been custard off his finger, then popped a blueberry in his mouth.

Then he caught Shirley watching him from across the room as she chatted up a large table. He wondered if it was incriminating, how satisfied he must have looked. But she never bothered to find out why.

She was the opposite of his Ma: pale, skinny, unforgiving, unconcerned. She barely knew him after he’d been there almost eight months. This was definitely one of his longest jobs. Seems he wasn’t meant for anything he tried to do, and she wasn’t about to help him figure it out. “Go and put the shipment away, March,” was the first thing she said to him in two hours.

He was worried he’d miss out on saying goodbye to the Hatter, who was certainly going to mention the treat he’d given him, so he hurried. Maybe he’d be able to finish, since he’d only sat down a short time ago, study-sessioning with his fancy artist friends.

Hare heaved the boxes around, and tugged at heavy flour bags. He was getting it all over his pants, and the stockroom was breaking him out into a sweat, but he didn’t care. He wanted to get it over with and break free in the nick of time.

There wasn’t a clock in the stock room, but he knew that this was taking forever. There were so many boxes, and he only half knew where they all went. Some had labels he could barely read, with his growing vision problem... _Ugh_ , _he would need glasses!_

“I just have to… use the… bathroom…!” He panted as he passed Shirley and the cook flirting through the window, with a growing pang in his head. One o’clock! Everyone was gone. He crossed the empty cafe and swayed into the men’s room. He caught himself in the mirror and swiped his temple with something resembling fury when he caught it glistening with sweat.

“Are you finished back there?” Shirley asked, as soon as he came back, clearly disgusted that his shirt was damp under his arms.

“No,” he answered.

“Go to lunch. You can finish afterwards.” He nodded and grabbed his lunch. “Clock out, please?!” She shrieked, once he was all the way to his table.

The way he was bossed around, snubbed, critiqued, and otherwise ignored, he felt like kind of a child, here. And it was starting to seem like they preferred him to do the brute work, and stay away from the registers, and orders, and customers too. When he was chatty, he got disorganized, and made mistakes the cafe couldn’t afford. He might have also heard once from one of the waitresses that his widest smile could shatter a mirror.

Every time Shirley looked at him, he knew that she thought he hadn’t heard that, and hadn’t heard that she laughed. But as with every order she gave, he still obeyed.

& & &

Why did he want so many sweets?! It was odd, but Hare depended on him wanting more, regardless of the reason or the harm it was probably doing to his teeth.

Karen, their inept hostess, was the one helping him pick this time, and at the soonest opportunity he was gesturing at Hare over her shoulder as she read off ingredients.

“ _THANK. YOU. FOR. THE. TART,”_ Hare thought he had lip-read. Hatter looked back to Karen and nodded fervently. “Yeah, my pops can’t have anything with walnuts. As long as there are no _walnuts_ in it.” He looked back to Hare again. _“IT WAS DELICIOUS”,_ he tried to really enunciate without actually speaking. Hare squinted. He wasn’t about to tell anyone he gave him free food, was he? His eyes widened real big as he was nodding and smiling at Hatter, but also sort of gesturing that he _keep his mouth shut_. Hatter shook his head and did two thumbs up, enough for Karen to realize a long-distance conversation was going on. There was also a repeated beeping sound, whose origin more or less escaped Hare.

Karen looked around to him and an extremely desperate _“Hehehehehehehehehehhhh!”_ fell out of his mouth. Just at that moment, Shirley tugged him by the wrist.

“ _What_ are you doing?!” She asked, as she took his place in front of the turbo oven and yanked the door open. A plume of smoke escaped as she shoved in the paddle and took out a blackened breakfast sandwich that apparently he had been cooking up until then.

He was so mortified and confused, he went catatonic. Hatter looked like he was reluctantly backing away: timid, but concerned. When he met eyes with Hare, however, he couldn’t help it: he smiled. _It’s okay_ , _it happens_ , Hare could hear in his mind, when he saw that smile.

Hare bit his lip, then he walked away.

For damn sure, he was in trouble later… but if Hatter didn’t care, he didn’t much either.

& & &

The thought came to his mind very suddenly and very innocently: I want to be his friend. Sure, he knew nothing but the bare essentials about him, but wasn’t it really all about _how they made you feel?_ Friends, I mean.

This youngen, Hatter, was sunshine. He was a mirror that he looked into that didn’t break.

And Hare had the urge to do all the things a friend would do: talk to him about himself (his real self), support him, listen to him, look out for him, feed him copious amounts of food--- I mean not _feed him_ , but make the food and, I don’t know, leave it in a basket on his doorstep. Take him out to the movies, or for a bite. Not _take him out_ , exactly -- but go with him, rather. Make sure he doesn’t have to sit on the bus alone, if that’s what he was doing. Yes, sit right next to him, legs grazing, smiling at each other, asking about each other’s days… smiling… grazing… feeding…

Ugh. He brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezed.

That was a lot of stuff, actually.

Probably not--

“Excuse me, sir… I’m gonna need one of _everything_?”

Hare jumped. He had been daydreaming again, which was making Shirley really pissed. “Oh my gosh!” Thrilled as he was to see Hatter again, he had to make sure that there wasn’t something he was about to neglect before he gave him his full attention. He looked all around. Espresso machine was off, all the food had been put away. Nothing cooking. No other customers waiting angrily for service. He hopped a little closer to the counter.

Hatter took it as his cue to come forward too.

“U-u-u-uh so, wh-did you say you need one of _everything_?” Hare was really about to _try,_ and was already getting all revved up to snatch bags and tongs and play the cash register like a musical instrument, before Hatter stopped him.

“Oh I was kidding, but-but ummm, actually, I need… What I need is…”

Hare blinked. Surely he knew what he needed: he always did. Wait, no he didn’t. Why did he seem like he always knew what he wanted, while simultaneously being quite helpless to his whims?

“I… would like…” Hatter started again, as if he thought reciting the beginning of the sentence would help him remember the rest. “Well, I mean… _what_ do you recommend?” He flashed up the palms of his hands and swished, as if to say _I. Just. Don’t. Knooowwww!_

Hare blinked again. “Are you sure you want something?” He laughed nervously, which made Hatter’s eyes wander around. “You know… Mr. Hatter… you can just say hello to me,” he let himself suggest. The boldness surprised Hatter and elicited his chuckles. “You don’t have to buy anything! You don’t have to buy my conversation!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay, I-- _maybe_ _that’s what I thought!_ But I didn’t-...” He took a moment to recalibrate, closing his eyes with an insuppressible smile. “Hi,” he finally said.

“Hi,” Hare said back, also smiling insuppressibly.

The Hatter looked perfect today, dressed to the nines: in a dark green waist-coat, crisp pinstripe trousers, and shiny oxfords. For an interview? Speech? ...Date? He hadn’t been in to eat, either. No coffee in his hand, and no apparent intent to settle into the study nook. Just standing there.

“How is your day?” He asked Hare.

“It’s…” Now Hare had to recalibrate. They were already doing those things he had thought about: asking about each other’s days and such!... And he wasn’t even ready yet! “I don’t know!” All the giggles… Why were they both always giggling? “I-It’s fine, it’s fine!” Hatter very clearly found this hard to believe. “How about yours?”

“ _Ohhh,_ it’s great… Woke up at four in the morning, wrote a whole paper that’s due later today, complete with bibliography, broke my French press-- well it’s not _mine_ ; it’s my sister’s that she gave to me. I mean you’d think _how would somebody break it_ , but I… I did.” It was Hare’s turn to look incredulous, nodding but with his eyes squinted, and a question forming at the tip of his tongue. Just as he opened his mouth to ask it, Hatter cut over him. “Then I went to class, and now here I am.”

“I shudder to think what a _bad_ day looks like for you.”

“Oh, there are no bad days,” Hatter assured him. In fact, he seemed very sure, even knowing he’d have to explain himself. “Only bad attitudes!”

“Hm, okay. You sound like my mother.”

“Oh, I thought I sounded like _my_ mother.”

Shirley passed over from the dining room to the kitchen, glancing at them, but nothing more. Hare thought she would have tried to break them up. N-not that they were attached in some sort of way, or, but, so, I mean, figuratively. Hare swallowed hard and tried to block her out of his mind as he mused “maybe mothers just say those things...”

“And you gotta listen to them,” Hatter added.

“Hehe, yes! But… well, _I_ wouldn’t be bothered if you told me your day was… heh… _not_ -so-great. I know mine could… be better...” Despite Hare trying to open up to him a little, Hatter looked like his mind had somewhat slipped off the tracks of the conversation. He stared warmly, but was bereft of a fitting response. Maybe this wasn’t the time and place… he _was_ dressed so particularly well today… for some purpose other than small-talk, surely.

“H-Hey, chin up. You’ll be out of here soon, right?” He finally said after an awkward little blip.

“3 o’clock.”

“I’ll be in class by then,” he told Hare.

“Oh…”

“U-u-uh, I will actually take a cookie, though. It looks _too good_ to pass up. Mhm. Yep. Chocolate chip. Right there.”

Hare chuckled and started bagging him the biggest chocolate chip cookie he could find in the batch, whilst a playful reprimand grew in his mind. He couldn’t help but say it aloud: “You know, if you have a _real_ snack you won’t just be surviving school on a sugar high.”

“Oh thanks, Mom,” Hatter answered, exchanging a wobuck for the cookie. Already, he stole a bite from it and winked. “See you later.”

“Bye…”

Hare suddenly shook out of it when the bell of the door chimed. He had just bid him adieu under a spell? Time stopping, lips parting, heart yearning? It was a dangerous sort of charm, this young man had… Too much charm for a man that young to know how to use responsibly. He was going to make Hare start thinking… they could be friends.

Oh, this was no good. No, it was _not_. He needed to back-peddle out of this. Puncture a hole in the ship before it sailed. _Pop_! There came all of his usual thoughts about this sort of thing, like the water bursting through the breech.

_He’ll hurt you._

_Not on purpose. But this won’t be what you want it to be._

_**Nobody**_ _has ever wanted to be friends with you like that_ , _and if you think that_ _ **he**_ _will, for even half a second, reality is gonna whoop you upside your face, Marchie._

_He’s not thinking about this the way that you are, Marchie, because you’re the only one who thinks this way._

_Always._

_Just you._

_He is sweet, and young, friendly, jovial, fresh off his mother’s lap, quoting her and everything._

_Shit._

_It might be time to talk to Ma about this._

As soon as he got home, his hand was hovering over the dialer. Ohhhh fuck. If he called his ma, then it was going to be Ma Official. _Meaning_ , she would remember this for the rest of her life, and she would have an opinion, and her opinion would sway everything that he did from hereon, because Ma’s Words Swayed.

“ _Go after that fine, young man! There’s nothing wrong with reaching into the honeypot! He’s leaving the lid open for you! Yes, he is!_ _Nonsense - everybody has a lid! You’re not making any sense, darling!”_

Hare firmly put his hands out in front of him and had to say it aloud: “You will NOT tell Ma about this.” And so, it was decided: he would NOT tell Ma about this.


	4. Thirsty for a Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hare reminds himself to be BOLD!

Even if Ma wasn’t an option, Hare came to realize that there were numerous other temptations in his life in the form of women who _weren’t_ his ma, who may possibly listen if he were to ramble breathily about the beautiful man, man-boy, boy-toy, gentleman-student who wasn’t a stranger anymore…

When the weekend hit, he found himself sitting at his weekly book club, surrounded by the mothers in his neighborhood, who were all lounging at retro housewife Mrs. Sparrow’s, with a copy of _How Stella Got Her Groove Back_ in their laps.

What a tale…

A woman with all of her shit together realizes she’s thirsty for a fresh-faced gentleman boy-toy-- uh.

Well, now he was _desperate to know_ how she figured this one out, and made plans to read ahead, secretly, at the soonest opportunity.

“Marchie, dear, what do _you_ think was what attracted him to Stella?” The doe-eyed but sturdy Mrs. Robinson asked. She looked a lot like him if he were 45 and domestically frustrated.

“Woah?” Suddenly he remembered that to these mothers, _he_ was considered a boy-toy.

“Uh.” And he had an answer in his head right away! “Well she’s not afraid to go after what she wants. She’s direct, and _to the point_ , and will be _just fine_ no matter what happens. At least, that’s how she comes off to him. I mean _really_ , that’s the _appeal_ of older women, is they’ve had time to grow into themselves, no apologies anymore… and experience, to boot.” The ladies all trailed words of agreement and nodded to each other, feeling very justified by what they felt was Hare’s keen opinion of them.

In truth, he was speaking from personal experience… He’d had a thing once. _With a lady his senior,_ when _he_ himself… was not far from the Hatter’s likely age... though probably a bit older-- _wait_. To his shock, he felt like he had just spoken to himself about his own situation.

 _Why,_ _ **I’m**_ _grown into myself!_ _ **I**_ _have experience!_ _And all of my shit is_ _ **definitely**_ _together!_

He nodded emphatically with the group, who appreciated his authentic and apt perspective. _He loved this book club_. And he hugged _Stella_ all the way home, where he swallowed the text whole and found himself in a strange state of mind.

& & &

As Hare watered his balcony plants (thinking that surely none of the young girls, guys, _people_ the Hatter knew at the institute probably had gardens), he began to feel quite sophisticated. _Look at me_ , _with my own garden and everything._ _Taco stew in the crockpot. Alphabetically organized comic books..._ His appreciation for them only got richer as his smile-lines became more defined… In fact, he really did think his face was balancing out to be the cutest it had ever been.

Dinner wasn’t quite ready, so he strode merrily to Kickbutt Katalogue, his favorite comic book store with questionable spelling. His friend Edina worked there, and she was always up for a chat about superheroes, elves, ogres, or wizards. Or maybe Legos, video games, cartoons, b-movies?... They’d been to a few together, at a drive-in theater, and weren’t afraid to shove their hands into the same bag of popcorn.

They always got _into it_ when he was there. In fact, she often forgot what she was doing or neglected other customers. This time, Hare was trying to mind his own business while she was engaging a dude who just simply couldn’t/wouldn’t end the conversation. And it wasn’t about comic books anymore!

 _Ugh_ , he sighed for her. This happened a lot.

She had told him several times, how glad she was that he never asked her out. He was practically the only one who shopped there who hadn’t before, and he was happy to be of higher status than those who tried.

He had wandered, somehow, into a much softer, pinker section of the store, where he was low-key interested in finding out what was inside these comics from afar, many of which featured two dudes on the cover, surrounded by sparkles… or clouds…

“Of all the places, I’ve never seen you down here before...” Edina’s voice sounded from around the corner. She appeared at the end of the aisle with her hands on her hips. Hare found that his hand was hovering over a cover of a bug-eyed boy having his chin pulled towards a chiseled and towering angel. He didn’t want to look like he was _afraid_ of what he was perusing, so he slapped his fingers on the book, about to pick it up and maybe read her what was on the sleeve, in a joking manner. “Don’t!” She said. “You’ll probably get addicted.”

“PFFFFFFFFFF… _does this look like something I would get addicted to?!”_

She pondered it for a moment. “Yes! And we wouldn’t be able to talk about it because I think it’s all garbage!” Hare was all chuckles as she grabbed him by both shoulders and led him back to more agreeable areas of the shop. Then she hurried to the cash register, to slip a piece of paper into the far left compartment.

“Are you putting another phone number in there?” She definitely was. She had no interest in keeping them for herself, so she left them in the slot for big dollar bills, so that the manager could gauge what a taxing day she’d had. Hare still laughed about it every time it happened.

“Be glad nobody hits on you at work, March. Be _glad_.” Hare was still chuckling, albeit timidly… maybe even with a tinge of disappointment. “They’ve gotta know I’m older than them, too!” Edina was pushing thirty. She _was_ cute, though, in a homely sort of way. Combed her chestnut colored hair to one side. Didn’t wear anything to bring the boys to the yard: just cardigans, sashes, and knee skirts. If she wore any makeup, it was past Hare’s detection. “ _What_ interest would I have in some twenty-year-old kid with a spotty mustache and a fedora, trying to act like he knows as much about the _Green Gladiator_ as I do?!”

Hare darted his eyes around as he held up a familiar issue of _Ice-Cream Men_.

“Well I mean… _those_ particular ones are no good, anyway…” He looked awfully self-conscious for a moment and was relieved when she laughed it off without asking why.

But once he was home again, he felt like he was back to square one about how to think. Why hadn’t the mothers at the book club judged Stella more?! Was he supposed to be more okay with the fact that he had a ~~crush on~~ significant need to be friends with a much younger man, or wasn’t he?! He stirred the taco stew and sat alone with it at the table, fixating on the empty chair across from him. Seemed silly to feel guilt for a desire to share: share time, share conversation, share _food_ , no matter whom it was with. Maybe the answer to all this was already inside of him, because he knew best, and because no comparisons could be made to other pairs, real or fictional.

& & &

Although Hare was gradually building up his resolve to go after what he wanted, the Hatter didn’t come to the cafe all week. It shouldn’t have, but it made his heart drop from a much steeper height than he’d expected it to. The Spring sunshine never ceased, even as specks of rain dashed his cheeks when he got out of work many afternoons later. It did not warm his heart recently, because he had been so preoccupied being worried that the Hatter had found a better cafe, with better treats!

Then, suddenly, there he was. On a Friday afternoon. Standing all shyly near the counter.

It was the worst thing Hare could have possibly done, but he dropped the pitcher of hot milk he had been mixing, and burned his hand in the process, just from the shock of seeing him. The pain made his voice crack as he hopped out of the way and let it crash to the ground. _**Oh**_ _, this was bad!_ Shirley was miraculously absent, thank God. In fact, no one seemed to be around! It was like a one-man show called “Hare Really Embarrasses Himself!”

“Uhhh, be right with you!” He crouched down and pretended not to have been so hurt, when it quickly became a _two-man show_ called “Shit: The Hatter is Involved For Some Reason!”

Hare’s jaw-dropped when he saw that Hatter had dashed around to his side of the counter. “Here here here, let me help!” He looked flawless and fancy as per usual, in a long coat and gloves, as he churned out miles of paper towels from the dispenser.

Hare didn’t know what to do except _help Hatter help him,_ so they were both shuffling around on their knees, slopping up milk with paper towels. “I’m such a numbskull!” He declared.

“No you’re not!” Hatter shouted back.

“Oh God!” Hare said to himself, as he saw Karen round the corner, who was definitely going to tell somebody that a tall, fancy, hat-clad man was where he shouldn’t be. “Quick, hide!” It all happened so fast. Hatter for some reason found no qualms with crouching at Hare’s feet as Karen passed.

“ _I’m sorry! Am I going to get you in trouble?!”_ He asked Hare, eyes so wide and blue.

“ _No no!”_ Hare stayed on alert for a second before he looked down to Hatter’s hunched back. _“I haven’t seen you all week,”_ he tried to say with a giggle, as if he were not wounded by this fact at all.

“ _Midterms!”_ Hatter told him. _“It was awful!”_ Karen had gone to bus a table and carry the tray to the back, and it was all Hare was really focusing on for a second.

He didn’t even think as he reached down and brushed Hatter’s back, trying to rush him back to his feet.

“Get out, get out! She’s not looking, get out!” Full of innocence, desperation, and agility, the Hatter stumbled to his feet and found the lowest lying counter across which to butt-roll back to his rightful place. At just precisely the moment Shirley was returning from the kitchen, and none the wiser, too!

“Can I get you something, sir?!” Hare uttered with haste.

“ _Yeeeesssss_ , you can! Thank you for your _very_ prompt service!” Hatter answered, definitely too loud, also. “LET ME JUST HAVE A LOOK AROUND.”

Hare nodded, but his hand was stinging something fierce by now, and he was looking for anything to calm it down. He spied a damp rag hanging over the sink nearby and sighed as the clamby-cool fabric met his pink, swelling skin. “March,” Shirley’s voice flushed into his ear. She was already right next to him and glaring suspiciously at their guest. “Make sure this guy pays before you give him anything. He might have stolen a donut last week.”

Hare was surprised, but incredulous. He nodded, and slowly approached the counter, keeping quiet, trying to make it seem like Hatter was no different from any other customer to him.

Oh, screw it: Shirley was off before he could even count to three. He jumped forward so that he was in whispering range and discreetly asked the Hatter if he was aware he was being regarded as a donut-thief.

“ _Oh shit,”_ he uttered, looking up to Hare with those bright, blue eyes again. He knew at that moment that Hatter could never be a thief, of anything. _“I-I didn’t mean to, I-- they gave it to me, and, and-!”_

“ _I believe you!”_

  
_“It wasn’t even good!”_ Hatter covered his mouth as soon as he said it, but Hare wasn’t offended at all.

“ _Well if you didn’t even like the donut, you should have a refund! Get a different donut!”_

“Really?!” Hatter suddenly shouted.

“Yes!”

“Well wait a minute, I can’t get a refund if I stole it,” Hatter reasoned, with the volume of his voice still very much inappropriate. He brought it back down to a whisper: _“Even though I did_ _ **not**_ _mean to steal it!”_

“ _It’s on the house, is what it is! I’ll get you a different donut, and you pay for that one, and then it will be like if you had paid for the bad donut,”_ Hare explained. Hatter, meanwhile, was nodding blankly… with a slight delay in comprehension. “And then I let you have a better donut free of charge.”

Unbeknownst to him, his boss was right there as he had started to speak normally, and it was Hatter’s wide and terrified eyes that cued him into this. What was she, a poltergeist? Magician?! “March!” OH, HE WAS REALLY GOING TO GET IT! Both he and Hatter jumped. “Can you put the order away again? We need someone… like you… to do it.”

He didn’t want to look like he was in cahoots with a donut-thief, at least in Shirley’s opinion, so he dragged his feet out of sight, trying not to even wave goodbye to him. It felt awful. His hand also hurt like a bitch!

The first thing he did when he got to the stock room was kick a sturdy stack of boxes. _UGHGhghghghghhhh!_ Cinderella with a wicked stepmother, he was! What a short-lived shenanigan! And what a sweet and conscientious, stand-up guy! Who was cute, on top of everything else?! _What even was the point of being at work anymore, if a creature such as that wasn’t hiding at his ankles?_ He wondered.

He’d see him again soon. He just knew it!

He had to hold onto that or he’d probably run to Ma and cry in her lap about this man. _Ma cannot know, because then it’s Ma Official!_ He reminded himself. _She’s gonna convince you you’re Stella and that you’re supposed to live in one of those foreign gay-romance comics!_

& & &

He was in again, the very next weekday, after another weekend full of cooking, garden-tending, and introspection… Hare was totally ready to reach out, he was! Bursting at the seams! Yet they wouldn’t let him help the Hatter! Try as they had not to look suspicious together, it was coming to management’s attention that Hare might’ve been trying to feed him free of charge.

The first time this happened, it hadn’t seemed coordinated, but then the rumors surfaced by the end of the day: that he seemed to have a favorite customer. Or maybe that the Hatter was his boyfriend (or so Bruce, the busser, said Karen had surmised!)

Hare blushed like a mad fool on his way out at 3’o’clock… then walked the streets towards the bus station with the dumbest grin and eyes half closed. “Yeah Karen thinks it looked like you two were flirting,” he heard Bruce say in his mind again. Did it?! But wait a minute: did _he_ look like he was flirting, or did _the Hatter_ look like _**he**_ was flirting?!

Ohhhhhhhh, Carrots! This was affecting his sleep!

& & &

Oh it TOTALLY felt like cockblockage, the next time this happened! Hare couldn’t even believe that Shirley thought she should come between them. It was probably just passive-aggression. Had he a smile that broke mirrors?! Well, let’s just not let this guy _smile_ anymore!

But you know what else…? The Hatter was not smiling much either. Although Hare couldn’t _help_ him, he could _watch_ him being helped, and see the exuberance that the Hatter walked in with quickly fade! They met eyes a few times, too. It was killing him that he didn’t stay to study, or come in with his friends and get a table. There was no chance to forge an interaction! He bought what he wanted and was out the door, seemingly satisfied by only a brief, indirect check-in on Hare. Because, after all, they weren’t actually friends yet, so how silly would it be that Hatter would need to always _talk_ to him?!

_Silly Stella!_

Then finally it happened: he had watched Hatter dig through his pocket for a few spare woebucks and set a folded paper on the counter. Then, just as he left, Hare spotted it still sitting there, and he knew what he had to do!

“HATTER!” He wailed on his way out the door, to that precious man’s back. He sure was a brisk walker! Almost lost to the busy street before he heard his name being called. Finally, he turned around, as Hare was about to run into him. Hare’s breath was heavy as he held out the paper. “You… _hghgh…_ _dropped this_ ,” he squeezed out his throat.

The Hatter seemed unable to speak as his gaze on Hare swelled with gratitude and compassion. “ _O-Ohhh…_ _you_ are the kindest…” He laughed and took the paper, crammed it in his pocket, then laughed some more because Hare was buzzed with adrenaline and it was probably _obvious to everyone!_ “How are you doing? Is everything okay?”

_THIS SWEET, SWEET MAN! Couldn’t he just hug him?_

“Of course it is! Yeah it’s fantastic! How are you?!”

Hatter didn’t miss a beat as he clapped back: “Equally fantastic!”

“That’s great! Uhmm…! Well, I’m on the clock so I really should get back. They don’t know I followed you and I’ll probably get in trouble.” _Simply because it was Hatter_ _he followed, so they might not even believe there was a paper!_

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” Hatter told him, shaking his head, his own dimples starting to break. Hare forced himself to chuckle and was starting to turn around when he heard: “Make sure you’re clocked out next time you follow me.”

Out rolled a real chuckle, to which Hare was completely helpless, as if someone had stomped it out of him like a ketchup bottle. “Hghghghghggh-I-I-I mean that would never happen anyway. You’re in class when I get out. I-I mean, I _think_ I _faintly_ remember you saying you were in class at three, w-which is when I get off work. Just by chance. I wasn’t trying to.”

Hatter smiled. “Only on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Hare was shocked. He knew what it sounded like to him, but he still wasn’t sure.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I don’t have class until five on my other days. Big chunk of time there. Sometimes I… come in for a nap.” He chuckled, almost just to himself, it seemed… as he was not looking Hare in the eye anymore. Wow, this boy really didn’t know that Hare was well aware of _everything_ he did in that cafe.

“M-maybe I’ll see you. You know, when you’re here, napping…” That sounded weird. Well, he’d messed this up. No re-do’s. Maybe another time asking the Hatter what he wanted to ask would seem a lot more natural. “Uh… I have to get back!”

“Oh, of course! Hurry!!!” Hatter shouted, full of his usual warmth, and watching Hare back-shuffle all the way to the cafe door, where he almost ran into a couple as they walked out. Seemed neither of them had the inclination to say “goodbye”. “Well-” Hatter started, just standing there as people passed him on both sides.

“Do you want to hang out one of those times?” Hare asked, clutching the door all the while, and sort of hiding behind it.

Hatter blinked, and then already had his answer: “Absolutely!”

“Marchhhh?” That was definitely Shirley he heard, and he looked over his shoulder to find her standing confused at the front counter. He looked back to Hatter.

“Let’s talk about it later!” Hare shouted at him. Hatter flushed the air out of his nose and swatted both hands towards the cafe.

“Yeah yeah, get back in there!”

“I’m going!” Hare assured him, seized by nervous giggles, which he could hear in the distance were matched…


	5. Chili-Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hare finally gets to interact with the Hatter outside of work!

Though there were many women who Hare thought would be interested in his predicament, he did not expect Shirley to be one of them. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Did not expect to be avalanched by her questions. As if they shared any sort of candor?! _Yeah right, bitch! I’ll huff and sweat in the stockroom for you, but you don’t get to know about my personal life!_

In fact, maybe for the first time ever, he did something that looked remarkably like glaring at her.

Then he went home that day and sighhhhhhed all over the place. He sighed because he was relieved, sighed because he was definitely feeling _feelings_ , and sighed because he really needed to stop sighing.

& & &

Work was a real doozy the next day! Couldn’t be doozier! He’d eaten his last muffin from Ma, and was feeling strangely wistful about it. They’d all been such _good_ muffins. It was raining - like _BUCKETS_. Hare wasn’t sure if he was going to have to row himself home! Wonderland weather: pleasant and mild most of the time, then random phenomena as though it had wanted to be ridiculous, and spun a wheel to determine how. “Oh, the wheel says a twister! HERE WE GO. Oh, rain for days? Sure!”

Naturally, the Hatter was not in, that day. But everyone else was. And they all wanted soup. Hare was pulled to and fro, never quite caught up. He was sort of glad the Hatter didn’t come in, because he was a MESS.

& & &

On Thursday, at 2:00, he was on his knees collecting a gaggle of scraps and napkins a table of eight had tossed on the floor, when Shirley walked up and scared the ever-living crap out of him. “Your _friend_ is here~~...” She said. He almost bumped his head on the table.

“Huh?!”

The breathless way he had accidentally said it made Shirley chuckle. “Yeah, he’s reading over there.” She jerked her head in the direction of the study nook, although they couldn’t see it from there. That was literally all she said, and then she walked off.

Hare HURRIED. And when he brought the busser tray around the corner, he saw that it was _definitely_ Hatter, getting reeeeal comfortable as a waitress, Alana, took his order. Then he spotted Hare, in the final second before he whipped behind the wall to go in the back and drop off the dishes.

He didn’t know why, but he was nervous, so he took his time unloading the tray, but as he did so, Alana poked her head through the other passage and told him with no trace of interest: “The guy in the hat says hi.”

“Excuse me?!” She was gone before he could even be surprised!

He poked his head out the very same passage. Shirley was at the espresso machine, with a loud WHIRRR engulfing all other sounds. Alana was counting her tips. When he spied Hatter again, he had taken out a little notebook and was jotting something important into it from the textbook in his lap. He had hogged so many of the pillows. Under his knees was one of those long sturdy ones, shaped like a piece of hard candy, and he was using two big ones, that looked like oversized marshmallows, as arm rests. When the whirring stopped, he looked up and caught Hare staring. Hare flashed his teeth in an over-excited grin before Shirley called him over.

“You wanna give this drink to him?” She asked as she tilted the pitcher just right, and made a heart in the foam of the latte. He could smell the lavender syrup as he got closer, eyes widening, hands already reaching. He took it without saying a word and tried not to stumble.

This resulted in him shuffling along like a penguin on ice for the most of the way, with his face lit up as though he were having a glorious reunion with Hatter, in slow-motion. “Hi!!!” He probably shouted a bit.

Hatter chuckled. “G’day!”

“I have--” Suddenly he realized his shoe-lace had come untied. “I have something for you!”

“I can see that!”

He thought he was close enough to the stool Hatter was using as a table, so Hare dipped forward to set down the plate and cup. Success! Then he felt a tug when he tried to step away, and the cup jolted as he let go. He shook his hand when the latte dripped beyond the rim and past his fingertips.

“Oop! You okay there, buddy?” Hatter asked him, naturally and without any real worry about the drink.

“I’m so sorry!” Hare went for the nearest napkin dispenser and was just about to wipe Hatter’s cup when he brought the rim to his lips. Hare watched his neck pulsate as the hot liquid passed beneath it - you know, just by chance he happened to notice that. Hatter could have just kept gulping it down, and he wouldn’t have had any qualms with that.

After a long, satisfying drink, Hatter sighed to himself, with foam on his upper lip. “Still delicious!” He assured him, before his tongue slipped up to wipe his lip anew. He reached for the napkins Hare had been squeezing in his palms by now. Hare was happy to see that through all of it the heart atop the drink was still intact. He laughed a little and was just about to walk off. “Hey, what are you doing at three today?”

OH JESUS.

“Nothing. What are _you_ doing at three today?” He tried to be cute.

“Also nothing!” Hatter answered joyously. “Well if you want, we could--”

“We _could_!”

“We _should_.”

“I’m all for it!” Hare told him, scrunching his shoulders. Hatter whipped out his pocket-watch with an all-consuming smirk and made his plan:

“I’ll study for the next forty-eight minutes!”

“Sounds good! You get that studying in,” Hare felt surprisingly confident enough to say. He wanted to try strutting off afterward but was reminded with a stumble that his shoe-lace was still presenting a real hazard, here.

“I-I’m gonna... tie this,” he told him, bending down. Wow, this wasn’t smoothe anymore. He looped the loop after a struggle, as he was not particularly coordinated right now. The Hatter looked like he was trying to read again, but was still smiling… and biting his lip too.

_Hare, stop paying attention to this man’s lips. Just because they’re glorious, plump, shiny, and being pinched beneath his teeth right now… d-doesn’t mean anything. His lips are not even relevant to you._

& & &

Hare did an ultra-shitty job for the next forty-eight minutes. Not on purpose, he just was on a strange cloud that was partly cloud-nine but also a cloud of nerves and anxiety. Cloud 8 ½ , I guess, where focus and precision were impossible, and he started responding to things backwards. Nearly ran into Karen.

At 2:58 he was not even ready to clock out because he realized he had put all the fresh pastries in the case without changing the signs, but Hatter was now idling by the door, all packed up and ready to go, with the coat, and the gloves, and a twinkle in his eye.

Fuck if anyone knew they were leaving together! He didn’t have to explain himself! “I’ve almost got it! Be right there!” He told him.

“Hmph-hmph, take your time,” he said. He was so patient and forgiving. It made Hare feel right at home.

Shirley was waiting by the time-clock when he was finally ready to clock out. He gave her one look, and she returned one... then his finger went for the numbers. “So for serious… what’s the story, here?” He’d only managed to tap two buttons.

“There’s no story,” Hare sort of laughed out, because seriouslyyyy! They had practically just metttt... _anddddd_ it was none of her business!

“Is he a friend of yours? An ex?” Hare looked like he was malfunctioning for a second. “He’s an ex, isn’t he?!”

“I _just_ met him!” Hare’s mind was blown that he even had to deal with such accusations!

“You _don’t_ act like you just met.” Hare hurriedly punched in the rest of his numbers with his whiskers twitching. The extracting smile and stare that she was burning into him didn’t even stop him from dashing right past her with his bag flung over his shoulder and his windbreaker tucked tightly under his arm.

He was hasty about leaving the store and even opened the door for Hatter, with his heart beginning to pound.

“Soooo! What are we doing?!” He asked, at 100% energy now, from adrenaline.

“I don’t know!” Hatter told him, equally giddy.

“Let’s just walk around. Let’s go to the park! Gosh, that was a crazy rain yesterday!” It all just fell out of his mouth as he noticed the damp sidewalks and fresh, dewy greenery that they were passing.

“Tell me about it! I forgot my umbrella, too. I mean _what Wonderlandian_ lugs their umbrella around?!” Okay, so they were just going to thought-bomb each other. Sure! Hare could do that!

“I have one,” Hare said. “It’s suuuuuper compact. Would fit in a pocket.”

“See, mine is enormous. Used to be my grandpa’s. Has the family’s crest on it and everything.”

“Your family has a crest?!”

“We do!”

As Hare took a moment to be surprised about it, Hatter just paused, then laughed.

As they wandered further and further away from the cafe, Hare began to wonder if Hatter was of some kind of _nobility_. Not a Duke, but…! All the fancy clothes, and the crests, and the mentioning of his lineage every few minutes… it had to mean something! He didn’t live anywhere close - said his house was way out in the boonies, on a hill, and it was five stories tall. But “not very wide”, was his disclaimer.

Hare flashed on his own apartment. It also wasn’t very wide. Or tall. But it was as much as one bunny could afford.

“Anyway, we had just enough money to send me off to school, so I’m trying not to blow it _. Trying_ being the key word, here.” Well, maybe he wasn’t rich. But he sure talked a lot about himself. Hare didn’t mind.

“Oh, you’re probably doing just _fiiiine_ ,” he assured him.

“Now I’m afraid to tell you the truth!” He leaned in towards Hare, surprisingly close, and said: “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but _college is hard!_ ”

“Y-Yes I know that.” Did he think Hare was a simple folk just because he worked at a cafe at his age?! Now it was time to flex. “I’ve been to college. In fact, I have three minors.”

“Minors? You don’t have any… majors?”

“Welll, you know, I was kind of all over the place as a student…” Hare admitted, eyes averting. He’d have to spin this so it didn’t seem like the failure that it was.

“You already went to school,” it dawned on Hatter. He seemed to be thinking for a moment, then flushed the air out his nose and looked off to gauge where they were.

“What?” Hare pressed, timidly.

“Oh nothing. I was gonna ask something silly.”

“What?”

The Hatter twirled his hand and stumbled into it: “Well! I was just wondering how old you were.” Of course, he was.

“Well how old do you _think_ I am?” They both giggled, for unknown reasons. Some time passed before Hatter had his answer, though.

They had reached the town’s common area: a donut shaped recess in the bricks with arena-style steps. People were snacking on pretzels and froyo, street tacos, you name it. The sun had parted through the clouds. It was really lovely, actually! _After Hatter finds out I’m ancient, we should get something to eat_ , Hare thought.

“I don’t know… 23?” Hare erupted with laughter. “Oh, wow, I must be _**totally**_ off! Uhhh.” Hatter crinkled his brow for a second and acted like his next guess was just popping out his nog, not even a serious one. “25?” Hare shook his head, then decided it was still a bit chilly today, so he set down his bag to put his windbreaker on. “26?” He shook his head again as he tugged the collar around his neck. “Oh, come on, you’re killing me. You’re older than 26?”

_Let’s just get this over with, and I’ll go home and never see him again._

“Are you 27? 28?” He hit on it, but kept going. Definitely would have lost by now, if this were Blackjack. “29? You’re _not_ 30,” Hatter said, almost insisting, and with an expression that was bordering on troubled, deflated.

“No, I’m not,” Hare finally told him. “...28.”

A trembley little laugh, soft as a mouse’s, escaped Hatter’s lips as he looked at him.

“I know. Pretty damn old to be the coffee bitch at a place like that.” He’d just be candid, he decided. He’d be the real him, and if the Hatter didn’t like it, he would be _just fine_. And definitely not cry about it.

“Oh, _no no no no no no_ … That’s **not** what I was thinking. Hey, do you want to get like a hot-dog or something? I was saving my appetite and now I’m looking at everything getting _so_ hungry!”

Hare blinked. “Y-yes! I-I… would _love_ a hot-dog… Is there a hot-dog place?” There were food carts all around the arena steps, but he hadn’t seen one for hot-dogs.

“Oh, yeah! It’s there!” Hatter pointed. “And I _never_ get to go.”

“Oh, why not?”

They started to stroll towards it.

“My friends don’t want stuff like that. And then one time I went alone, and they happened to be walking by and saw me just… scarfing it by myself on that bench over there.” He twirled his finger around in some sort of direction where a bench might have been sitting, but Hare was too busy noticing (again) how crazy long his eye-lashes were. “I-I-I mean I try _not_ to be, but I-I-I _was_ kind of embarrassed…”

“Hey! There’s nothin’ embarrassing about enjoying a good ‘dog!”

They reached the cart with gaping grins as they scanned over the menu. “Actually, those chili-cheese fries look good,” Hare muttered.

“Oh shit!” Hatter exclaimed desperately. “But they’re eight wobucks.”

“I’ve got eight wobucks.” This wasn’t coming together for the Hatter, so Hare spelled it out: “We can _share_ it.”

“Oh.”

“What, did you think I was going to order them for myself and make you watch?” He glanced at the cheery gent working the cart. “We’ll take the chili-cheese fries, please.” Then he turned back to Hatter, whose hunger was unmistakable. _He just wanted to feed this man! Was that so wrong?!_ “Anything else?”

“I-I would still like a hot-dog, too, actually.”

“Two hot-dogs!” Hare whipped out his change faster than Hatter could even locate his wallet.

“Wait wait wait!”

“It’s on me!”

“Are you sure?!”

“Let me treat you!” Without giving it the necessary amount of thought, Hare slapped his hand on Hatter’s arm and gave it a jiggle. Luckily, all that happened was they smiled at each other… Then Hatter stretched his arm across his shoulders and started steering him off to the side.

“Alright, alright, alright… We’re holding up the line.”

& & &

A lot of moaning and finger-licking later, they sat at the common area steps beside empty paper trays, and Hatter thought to check the time. He had to dash! Dash off to class. Dashing, strapping, and smashing, he was… even _lapping_ up chili-cheese fries.

“This was really great!” He declared, already on the move!

“Yeah it was--uhh, HATTER! HATTER!” He just about back-walked into traffic, scaring the bejeesus out of Hare. “Crosswalk lights, Hatter! Wait for ‘em!”

Hatter managed to swivel around a street-lamp and save himself. When the lights finally shined, he looked up and tipped his hat before he was on his way. “I owe you one!”

Hare gave him a single flash of his hand: the kind of wave that meant “yes, yes, _goodbye_ … now pay attention to what you’re doing.”

He really was too cute for his own good.


End file.
